


Perfection in a Moment

by orderlychaos



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural, Clint is a werewolf, Cuddles, Fluff, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Shifters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-12
Updated: 2017-07-12
Packaged: 2018-12-01 05:11:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11479311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orderlychaos/pseuds/orderlychaos
Summary: Clint Barton cracked open an eye and huffed.He wasn’t sulking, exactly.  Or brooding, or hiding in his werewolf den (or whatever Natasha was calling it this week).  He just wasn’t feeling… social.  Besides, if he had to listen to Stark ask “What do your keen werewolf eyes see, Legowolf?” one more time, Clint was going to bite him.  Not even Captain America’s disappointed face could stop him.“That bad, huh?” Phil drawled in a dry voice.Clint's not having a great day, but then neither is Phil.  Cuddles make it better.





	Perfection in a Moment

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheGirlInTheB](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGirlInTheB/gifts).



> A belated birthday fic for E <3

Clint Barton cracked open an eye and huffed.

He wasn’t sulking, exactly.  Or brooding, or hiding in his werewolf den (or whatever Natasha was calling it this week).  He just wasn’t feeling… social.  Besides, if he had to listen to Stark ask “What do your keen werewolf eyes see, Legowolf?” _one more time_ , Clint was going to bite him.  Not even Captain America’s disappointed face could stop him.

“That bad, huh?” Phil drawled in a dry voice.

The sound of Phil walking through the front door of their apartment was what had initially woken Clint from his nap.  It was one of those things hardwired into Clint’s werewolf brain: _protect the den_.  Like the itch to change on the full moon, his preference for barely cooked steaks, and his small tendency to chase rabbits.  Of course, Clint didn’t need to protect anything from _Phil_.  He might hate most of his stupid werewolf instincts, but he’d _never_ hate the part that had led to finding his Mate.

Phil leaned up against the door jam of their bedroom, his tie loose around his throat, the top button of his shirt undone and the crowsfeet at the corners of his amazing blue eyes deepening with exhaustion.  He looked like he needed at least twelve hours sleep and three decent meals.  Knowing Phil, he’d probably been overusing his magic.   _Again_.  Mostly because Phil was _completely incapable of delegating_.

(As a senior agent at SHIELD, Phil -- and until Clint had become a part-time Avenger, with Clint beside him -- dealt with all the supernatural nasties and catastrophes that threatened the stability of the seven realms.  Which usually ended up being _even more_ difficult that it should have been when Phil didn’t trust others to do things.)

Clint whined low in his throat, because it wasn’t like wolf mouths were designed for human language, and Phil would understand what he meant anyway.  Staring up at Phil when Phil snorted, Clint buried his nose between his paws and tried to look as pathetically adorable as possible.  For as long as Clint could remember, he’d preferred his wolf-form when he was injured and hurting.  Medical research suggested there was a small increase to a werewolf’s already incredible rate of healing when they stayed as a wolf, but mostly Clint just felt _safer_ as a wolf.  Particularly now that his Mate was here to take care of him.

Letting out a long sigh, Phil tugged off his tie completely and walked over to the bed where Clint was sprawled.  “I have a craving for Thai,” he said, reaching out to scratch behind Clint’s ear.  “But should I order you a pizza instead?”

Clint let out a contented rumble, because Phil had amazing fingers, seriously.  Then Phil’s question filtered in through the warm, happy pleasure of having his ears scritched.  Clint cracked open his eyes again and gave an inquisitive grumble.

Phil smiled softly.  “I wasn’t sure if you’d be up for using cutlery tonight,” he said, which was Phil’s way of asking if Clint was going to change back into a human at any point soon.

(The breathtaking part of it was that _Phil didn’t care_.  He just wanted clarification about forks and whether he’d be getting coherent dinner conversation, or just a lap full of wolf to cuddle.  So he could organize things accordingly.)

Clint considered his options.  Thai did actually sound pretty good, and Gods knew he could use a vegetable or twelve.  The injuries that had led to his most recently enforced downtime hadn’t even been that bad -- just a sprained wrist, some bruised ribs and a mild concussion.  Most of the effects would be gone by the morning, even if he shifted back to human.  And really, it looked like Phil’d had a pretty shitty day himself, and Clint was not going to leave his Mate hanging when Phil needed a bit of comfort, too.

Cocking his head to the side, Clint _woofed_ and shook his head.  Phil raised both eyebrows, but thankfully he had a pretty good wolf-to-human translator in his head now, so he seemed to get what Clint meant.  “Okay.  You want your usual Pad See Ew, or you want a Massaman Curry tonight?” he said.

Clint _woofed_ again, twice.

“Or we can order both,” Phil said, his eyes brightening with suppressed laughter.

Yawning, Clint sent Phil a wolfy grin.  Shaking his head, Phil gave Clint one last scratch behind his ear.  “I’ll go call in our order, and then I’m going to hit the shower, okay?” he said.

Clint nodded, letting warmth curl through him as he listened to Phil’s soft voice order food.  He didn’t move from the bed other than to turn his head when Phil came back, shedding his suit.  He hung up everything that needed to go to the dry cleaner, standing there comfortably in his boxers and undershirt even though Clint wasn’t being subtle about his watching.  Phil chuckled as he turned back around, shaking his head at Clint.  “Enjoying yourself?” he asked.

Clint offered him another wolfy grin, tongue lolling out.  Could he help it if his Mate was undeniably hot and half-naked?

Still shaking his head, Phil gathered up his sweatpants and an old t-shirt and headed into the bathroom.  After the door shut behind Phil, Clint got up with a long stretch, easing all the muscles that he hadn’t really been using while he was napping.  He was careful of his left arm -- front leg, _whatever_ \-- because even though the dull throb was fading, he didn’t really want to re-hurt his sprain.  Then he jumped down off the bed and _shifted_ , which was almost as satisfying as the stretch.  Rolling his now human shoulders, Clint yawned, scratched his stomach and padded over to the chest of drawers to find some underwear.

Shifting between his wolf-form and his human one was really hard on clothes, and more than once Clint had ended up in a situation where nudity _really_ hadn’t been a good thing.  Even with the growing protections of Werewolf Rights, some things would always be awkward, and for Clint, that would always be public nudity.

(Private nudity, when Phil was also naked, was more than fine, however.)

By the time Phil came back out of the bathroom, his hair still damp from his shower, Clint was dressed in his own sweatpants and a soft purple hoodie.  “Hey, Phil,” he greeted, his voice a little rough with disuse.

Phil sent him a quiet smile in reply, which only grew when Clint walked over to give his Mate a soft kiss.  Clint shivered as Phil’s hand came up to cradle his cheek, because Phil’s strong, calloused hands always held Clint so gently.  “Hey,” Phil said when Clint pulled back, his thumb gently running along Clint’s stubbled jaw.  “Feeling any better?”

“A little,” Clint replied, about three seconds before his stomach gave a hungry rumble.

Chuckling, Phil stepped away.  “You haven’t eaten all day, have you?”

Clint raised both his eyebrows.  “I didn’t exactly have hands for most of it,” he said, because Phil had seen him that morning before he’d left for SHIELD HQ, and he’d been furry then, too.

Phil rolled his eyes.  “That doesn’t mean you can’t eat,” he said, turning towards the kitchen.  “Wolves eat.  That’s why their entire species hasn’t gone extinct.”

Hiding a smile, Clint reached out to grab Phil’s hand and twined their fingers together.  He didn’t say anything, but Phil still huffed, and Clint let himself be pulled along.  “I’m not even going to acknowledge the times I’ve come home to see you, in your wolf-form, eating a bag of Doritos I _know_ that I put on the top shelf of the pantry, but there’s a bowl of fruit on the counter, Clint,” Phil continued.  “And I did offer to leave something out for you before I left this morning, in case you got hungry.”

It  was true.  Phil had tried really hard to make sure things around their apartment were accessible even when Clint had four legs and no opposable thumbs, but he hadn’t felt like eating for most of the day.  He got that way sometimes, just needing to curl up somewhere quietly for a while, and from the way Phil’s eyes went soft, more of that was showing on Clint’s face that he’d thought.

“I know,” Clint said, stepping forward to wrap his arms around Phil from behind, settling his hands on Phil’s stomach and Phil’s solid, familiar weight pressed against his front.  “I wasn’t going to starve.  I’m good.”

Phil let out a long, slow sigh.  “Okay,” he said, reaching up into the cupboard for his special tea box.

There was still a heavy tension in his shoulders and Clint could feel it humming underneath Phil’s skin.  “Should I ask how awful your day was?” he said.

“Gods, no,” Phil said.  “It was one disaster after another, and that doesn’t even count the new crop of junior agents that are throwing magic around like walking through a cloud of minor spellwork on my way to lunch is a unpleasant experience.  And that doesn’t even count the posturing from the newly recruited shifters and vampires.  Or the trolls.”

While he was talking, Phil deftly pulled out one small tin after another, adding a pinch of various herbs into a tea pot.  Clint watched him work, humming sympathetically against Phil’s shoulder, because watching Phil do magic was always incredible.  Even if it was just making a soothing cup of tea.

“I’m rostered on to take the new shifters through their paces next week,” Clint said.  “I’ll sort them out.”

Phil sent a zap of magic towards the black enamel kettle on the stove.  Phil’s mother had been one of the Ljósálfar, the Light Elves of the Norse, otherwise known as the High Sidhe of the Seelie Court, which is where Phil had gotten his magic.  He’d inherited his mother’s delicately pointed ears, too, and Clint would forever enjoy the way they twitched every time he ran his finger down them.  Thankfully, his father’s human blood had helped counteract the Sidhe aversion to iron, because otherwise Phil would have had a lot more trouble in following in his father’s footsteps and joining the Rangers.

The fact that Phil was half-elf was also something Stark hadn’t been able to let go since he’d found out.  It had apparently shaken his entire worldview.  Or maybe that was because right after finding out, Phil had not only touched Clint’s beloved bow, but picked it up and used it.  Apparently, elves and bows were a _thing_ with Stark.

(Phil was pretty good at using a bow, actually.  Clint had made sure of that.  It was possible Clint hadn’t been able to let it go after he’d found out Phil’s mother was an elf, either.)

“Thank you,” Phil said.  “I appreciate that.”

“Want me to accidentally give them a few extra bruises?” Clint asked.

Phil stilled and Clint grinned.  “Encouraging unprofessional behaviour would be very inappropriate of me,” he said, which was a definite yes.  “As a senior SHIELD agent, I should lead by example.”

“Got it,” Clint said, pressing a kiss to the skin of Phil’s neck.  “Work them to they drop and then make them run the obstacle course another dozen times.  I’ll get Tash to help me.  It’ll be beautiful.”

The tension slipped out of Phil’s shoulders, not entirely gone, but definitely not as bad as it had been.  “Drink you tea, Machiavelli,” he said.

He turned in Clint’s arms and handed Clint his favourite purple mug, just as the buzzer for the door sounded.  Phil reluctantly stepped back to go and collect dinner, and Clint took the opportunity to bring the pot of tea and their mugs over to the coffee table in the living room.  He added his favourite purple blanket to the couch, along with a few fluffy pillows, because it totally sounded like a night to just sit in front of the television and not think about things for a while.

“That looks cozy,” Phil said when he came back.

“Be better with you in it,” Clint told him.

Phil smiled, ducking his head.  He sometimes got adorably abashed for reasons Clint’s still hadn’t figured out.  But that was okay.  Clint was happy to spend his lifetime finding out.

Clint flicked on the TV, settling on an episode of _Brooklyn Nine Nine_ when he found one.  Phil dished up the food -- curry and Pad See Ew for Clint, vegetarian Pad Thai for Phil because he’d picked up his mother’s vegetarianism for magical reasons -- and brought over a pile of napkins.  They ate dinner on the couch, not talking much, but the warmth and comfort leached the remaining tension from Phil’s shoulders.

Afterwards, they curled up in the nest Clint had made, Clint’s back pressed into the pillows propped up against the arm of the couch and Phil a solid weight along his front.  Clint had healed more than he’d thought, because his ribs hadn’t even twinged when Phil had pressed his ear to Clint’s chest to listen to his heartbeat.  Clint stroked Phil’s other ear with his uninjured hand, smiling as Phil’s ear twitched underneath his fingers.

“So I’ve been thinking,” Clint said quietly.

Phil hummed, already half-asleep.

“Yeah,” Clint said.  He took a deep breath and let it out slowly.  “We should get married.”

Pushing himself up, Phil moved so he could see Clint’s face.  “You want to get married?” he asked, eyebrow arched.  “I thought Matings for werewolves _was_ getting werewolf-married.”

It kind of was and it wasn’t.  Matings for werewolves weren’t exactly how they were portrayed in romance novels.  They _could_ be, if the individuals involved fell in love and wanted it to be, but other bonds were more about breeding and strengthening each other, both metaphysically and otherwise.  Different relationships worked for different people, but Clint wanted his romance novel ending.  Wanted to bind himself to Phil in a way that showed their family and friends just how much he loved Phil.

“Yeah, well, it is?” Clint replied.  “Except, I was kind of thinking we could add to it?  You know, go down to the Courthouse and do it the human way, and then… whatever way Elves get married?”

Phil watched Clint, his blue eyes soft.  “Can I ask what brought this on?”

Clint shrugged.  “I’ve been thinking about this for a while, if that’s what you’re asking,” he said.  “It’s just…”

Their Mating would always be a memory Clint treasured.  Phil’s skin had glowed under the moonlight, and he’d arched up under Clint’s hands so perfectly, meeting each of Clint’s kisses with an answering hunger.  It had been _amazing_.  Yet, even so, circumstances had pushed them into it before Clint had found the courage to voice things on his own, and Clint _never_ wanted his Mate to doubt how much Clint wanted him.

“I wanted to ask you properly,” Clint finished, which was a pale reflection of the _want-need-love_ curled up in his chest.

Phil smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners and a mischievous curve to his lips.  “Well, _technically_ , you still haven’t,” he said.

Clint tugged on Phil’s ear lobe in retaliation.  Then, as seriously as he could manage, he asked, “Phil Coulson, will you marry me in as many ways as we can, so I can spend the rest of our lives showing you how much I love you?”

Phil blinked, his eyes bright.  “ _Yes_ ,” he said hoarsely.

Clint grinned, his heart and stomach swooping, but then Phil was leaning up and kissing him fiercely, and Clint forgot about everything else.  When Phil finally pulled back, his lips swollen and his cheeks flushed, he let out a breathless chuckle.  “You have a knack for turning a horrible day into one of the best of my life,” he said.

Clint shrugged gently, not wanting to dislodge Phil, who was still lying half on top of him.  His grin felt permanent on his face.  “That’s how you make me feel every day,” he told Phil.

Phil groaned softly, and pressed his forehead to Clint’s.  “You are so stupidly perfect,” he mutttered.

Clint wasn’t, but this moment _definitely_ was, so he’d take it.

 

End.


End file.
